


All My Problems Are My Fault

by emmasbc



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gay Richie Tozier, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 08:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmasbc/pseuds/emmasbc
Summary: Richie Tozier has been missing something for as long as he can remember. What exactly? He doesn't know. Maybe the answer is hidden in his past.ORRichie Tozier's last tour is about his life.





	All My Problems Are My Fault

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have two parts. I would like it to be half Part One and half Part Two but I can already tell that one will be longer than the other.  
This fic contains self-harm, suicidal thoughts, drug abuse, and anything else you saw in the tags. Really, just don't read it if you can't handle it- I don't want to cause any trauma.  
Also, this is my first fic so any (constructive) criticism is appreciated.   
I would say "enjoy" but this isn't a very happy story right now.

_“Really, I wouldn’t be here, telling you all this story if it hadn’t been for one goddamned clown. I know, I know. A clown? Who the fuck gets anything useful from a clown? Well, the little squirty flowers are fun, I guess, but that’s beside the point. This wasn’t just any clown,” Richie shuddered, a chill still running down his spine after all this time, “Have you guys ever heard of a town called Derry?” He waited for a response but got none. He chuckled. “Thought not. Well, it’s in Maine. It’s where I’m from. It’s also where I had the worst- and best- experiences of my life. And like I just said- it’s thanks to Pennywise the Dancing Clown…”_

* * *

Bev was gone. That was the only thing that the boys could think of as they watched her aunt’s car take her away, away, away. Away from them. Richie bit his lip. Portland was too far.

Okay, so maybe they had barely known Bev. They had known of her for a long time, of course, but they had only ever truly gotten to know her that past summer. Not even the whole summer! But Richie felt as if they, the Losers, knew Beverly Marsh better than anyone else in the world. And she knew them, too. Richie had never been friends with a girl before Bev. He wished he had. Or maybe not. Richie was convinced that there was no girl cooler than Bev. There were no boys cooler than her either. Her bravery, her wit, and her strength were unrivaled. She was a heroine in every aspect of the word. Richie knew that, without her, It would still be taking and slaughtering kids. Without her, one of the very Losers that he was standing amongst might be dead. As the six remaining Losers ran down the street after her car, Richie couldn’t help but feel as if it was the end of an era. With It, his innocence had fled. All of their innocence was gone- replaced by the cold, hard knowledge of pure evil. They had seen a creature that terrified them all more than the Devil itself. At least the Devil punished the guilty. Now, with Bev’s bright red hair disappearing from sight as she stuck it out the passenger seat window, Richie accepted the loss of something else. He couldn’t quite place it. He had quite obviously just lost a friend (“you’re not losing me, Richie- I’m not gone forever”) but a piece of him had slipped away with the gray DMC DeLorean that carried one of his closest friends.

* * *

_ “In all honesty,” Richie said to the glaring lights pointed at him, “I still haven’t found out what exactly I lost that day. I just know that I’m still missing it.” There was a half-hearted “aw” from the crowd. It bothered him. “Anyways…”_

* * *

As the car turned the bend and traveled out of sight, Richie slowed to a stop. He felt empty inside. The other five continued to run, hoping to catch one last glimpse of metal. However, upon noticing that Richie was no longer by his side, Eddie Kaspbrak turned his head to see Richie looking, just for a moment, broken. He stopped too but didn’t alert their other friends. His eyes locked with Richie’s. Eddie wasn’t sure what he saw there, in the depths of Richie’s enlarged eyes, but he didn’t like it. He started to head over to him. Richie looked away.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie greeted solemnly as he approached. “How are you doing?” Richie thought that was a dumb question. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Oh, I’m just dandy, Eddie-Bear,” he bit out sarcastically, using his mom’s pet name for him. Eddie frowned, clearly bothered by this. He chose to ignore it, though.

“Bev will be back next summer. We’ll get to see her again,” Eddie said in what was meant to be a comforting manner. For some reason, though, it just annoyed Richie.

“I know.” Eddie began to look awkward, clearly unaware of what to do.

“And, uh, you still have the rest of us,” Eddie tried, sounding unsure. Richie scoffed.

“Yeah. But for how long?” Eddie looked shocked.

“Wha-what do you mean?” He managed to get out. Richie rolled his eyes, turning away.

“Never mind.”

“No, Richie. C’mon. You really think that the rest of us are going to-”

“Leave?” Richie interrupted. “Yeah, I do.” He admitted this monotonously and apathetically.

“Why the fuck would you say that?” Eddie asked angrily, mood shifting quickly in defense.

“You’ll see.” With that, Richie strode away from Eddie as he trembled with anger.

* * *

_ “Yeah… I regretted that. Felt bad immediately. I know- knew- that Eddie didn’t deserve that. He was just trying to make me feel better. Trying to be a good friend. He always was. I wish…” he began to choke up slightly, but pushed it down his throat, “I wish I had been, too…”_

* * *

Richie barely saw his friends at all that September. After they had made the Promise and Bev had left, they had all just sort of distanced. They all had their own shit to deal with.

Richie had classes with some of the Losers, of course. He had English with Ben, Math with Bill, and History with Eddie. He had no classes with Stan or, obviously, Mike. He had lunch with them all, but he didn’t sit with them. Bill and Stan sat with the rest of the chess club, sometimes throwing glances over to Richie. Ben sat with some smart kids that Richie had no interest in meeting. And Eddie… well, Richie tried not to look at Eddie very much. The small boy had joined the cross-country team and apparently had a skill for running. He was fast on those short, skinny legs. Richie had never gone to a meet, but he had heard things about him.

Richie sat alone. He sometimes didn’t even sit in the cafeteria, preferring to skip lunch altogether and smoke outside. He had picked up that habit from Bev. He didn’t even like the taste of tobacco- he liked the memories he got when he put the paper tube in-between his lips. Every time he took a drag, he felt a bit lighter. Every time he breathed out a trail of smoke, he felt something dark escape him. And sure, he breathed it back in later, but for a few seconds- a few glorious moments- he was free.

One time, Eddie had found Richie leaning against the railing out back. It had been about a week since they had talked and he was clearly worried. He walked up to Richie guardedly, seemingly wary of the taller boy. Richie hardly looked at him, opting to stare at his grimy shoes.

“Hi… Hi, Richie,” Eddie said, unsure. Richie spared him a short flick-of-the-eyes up. He nodded in response. Eddie was silent for a moment before speaking again.

“I was just, uh, wondering if you wanted some company out here,” he admitted. His eyes shone with hope. Hope that Richie was about to shatter.

“You look cold,” Richie stated, gesturing towards Eddie’s shorts and polo, “I think it would be best if you went back in. Wouldn’t you to get sick, now would we?” It was said mockingly, intending to hurt. It achieved its purpose. Eddie pursed his lips.

“Fine. Fine, be that way.” He then turned on his heel and all but stomped into the building. Richie’s heart sank. He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth where it was hanging. He stared at the lit tip. The orange glow called to him. It entranced him. While holding it unsteadily with his right hand, he lifted his left wrist next to it. As he placed the burning paper to his skin, he hissed in pain. He pulled it back to see the red, inflamed, circular mark it had left.

He did it again.

* * *

_ “I did that for a while. It, uh, it made everything feel a little easier,” Richie pulled his sleeve up his arm, revealing the faint scars that the cigarettes had left to the darkened faces._

* * *

Richie’s parents never noticed the burns. Or if they did, they never mentioned them. They didn’t mention much of anything.

Eventually Richie moved on to other things. His thighs were marred with cuts. His shoulders and neck were covered with bruises from hard pairs of lips. There were scratches on his back, inflamed and raw.

Richie was fourteen when he tried weed. Fifteen when it was laced with something stronger. It was barely a week before his sixteenth birthday when he was sold coke for the first time. He liked it better than weed. He was more talkative, more confident.

Coming down was the hard part.

Despite the weight loss, insomnia, and enough bloody noses to fill a swimming pool, Richie kept his good grades. School was never particularly hard for him.

Bill moved in freshman year; his parents were still too heartbroken over Georgie to stay. He’d had a going-away party. Richie had been invited. He didn’t come.

Without Bill, any hope that Richie had of reuniting the Losers was gone. Beverly hadn’t visited the summer after she had left. Or the next. Or the one after that. She was well and truly gone.

Richie was never as close to Mike or Ben anyways.

Stan listened to his parents. He was a good boy. He stayed away from the fag.

* * *

_“Eddie, though…” Richie whimpered, “he never gave up on me. I gave up on me. I gave up on him. But he,” Richie choked back a sob, “he stayed.”_

* * *

It was the December after Richie had turned sixteen when things took a turn for the better. He had made some new friends. Well, “friends” was a stretch. “People he hung out with” would be more accurate. They were other junkies and they had some good shit.

Richie was spreading his lanky form across the laps of a green-haired boy and a girl with twenty piercings in an alleyway behind a row of shops when he saw a familiar figure walking past. His eyes followed the short form as the boy walked with his arms crossed, shivering. Richie heard snickering.

“Hey!” One of the stoners, Jax or Jason or something with a J, shouted at the boy. Eddie Kaspbrak turned his head. His eyes locked with Richie’s. Richie glanced away, feeling hot.

“What?” Eddie huffed, clearly bothered. The greasy-haired stoner walked closer to him.

“Want a joint?” The punk offered, holding out a roll to the shorter boy. Even from where Richie was sitting, he could still see the disgusted look on Eddie’s face.

“Do I want cancer? No.” He tried to walk away but Jason lunged forward and grabbed his arm. He said something to Eddie but Richie couldn’t hear. Eddie tried to yank his arm back but failed. Jason grabbed his other wrist. Richie became immediately defensive. He got up suddenly, surprising the two people that he had been draped over.

“Hey, man, I think that’s enough,” Richie said calmly to Jason. The boy to whom he was speaking turned his head back a bit to see Richie. He split a grin.

“But the little fag and I are just getting started. Isn’t that right, faggy?” He said tauntingly, redirecting his attention back to Eddie. Richie saw red. He stormed over to where they were standing and ripped Eddie away from Jason, standing in front of him.

“Leave him alone, Jason,” Richie warned menacingly. Jason looked shocked.

“It’s Jake. And what do you care about a fairy?” He sneered.

“Well, Jason. I care because I’m a homo.” He was met with stunned silence. “Don’t come near me again or I’ll kill you.” He then took Eddie’s hand and dragged him away from the stoners. Eddie was silent as they walked a few blocks. He only spoke after Richie released his hand.

“Thanks, Richie.” He muttered it, looking embarrassed. Richie nodded.

“I was fed up with their homophobic bullshit anyways.” Eddie smiled slightly at that.

“Are you really a…” Eddie trailed off, unable to finish and burning bright red. Richie’s gaze darkened.

“A fag? Yeah. What’s it to you?” He said, bristled. The blood drained from Eddie’s face.

“N-nothing Richie! I-I’m not- I don’t-” he spluttered. Richie began to walk away. “Hey!” Eddie called, sobering. Richie turned back around. “I don’t care. I promise.” He said it sincerely.

“Okay.” Richie’s tone was clipped and he tried to leave again before Eddie grabbed his wrist. Richie looked into his eyes, surprised to see that they were wet.

“Don’t leave. Please,” Eddie begged. “I miss you, Rich.” Hope dripped from every syllable. Richie felt his heart soften a fraction.

Those words were all it took for Richie to remember his love for Eddie. Every feeling that he’d had in the last three years suddenly burst, and every emotion he’d felt before that bubbled up to.

He remembered all the leaps his heart made when Eddie teased him. All the times he’d blushed at Eddie’s touch. All the times he’d cried over him, laughed with him. All the times he knew he loved him.

All of that washed over Richie in an instant and then he was breaking down, letting it all out as he collapsed to his knees in front of the boy he loved. He cried as Eddie sank down in front of him. He sobbed as Eddie embraced him. He wept into Eddie’s neck, and knotted his hands into his shirt. He ignored the scrape on his knees as they were met with the stones on the ground. He ignored the possibility that anyone else could see them. Right then, all Richie knew was the feeling of Eddie.

“I miss you too, Eds,” he choked out. Eddie only clutched him tighter.

* * *

_ “I wish I had never let go,” Richie said remorsefully. “If I had held onto him, would he be where he is today? Would I?” He was silent for a few moments, breathing heavily in grief. When he spoke again, it was strangled. “If I had told him then how I felt… would he still be alive?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading if you got this far! I'll try to update when I can. Feedback is really encouraging. Also, suggestions are appreciated.   
Also, the format is probably really messed up because I'm new to this site (not to make excuses or anything). Sorry.


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